


(This Memory) Time Cannot Erase

by breaking_points



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, Inspired By Tumblr, Jughead Is A Sap Confirmed, Love Letters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-18 00:29:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13670505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breaking_points/pseuds/breaking_points
Summary: An adoring fan sends Jughead a thought-provoking letter.His response is cheesy, yet so perfect.





	(This Memory) Time Cannot Erase

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Peyton_0727](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peyton_0727/gifts).



> Hey! I'm back with another one shot!
> 
> I've been away for a while, I know...but it's nice to be writing again.
> 
> This is for you, Peyton my dear, for encouraging me to start writing again! I hope you don't mind.
> 
> The title is taken from the song Tell Him by Celine Dion and Barbra Streisand. It's a beautiful duet, and you should definitely listen to it. 
> 
> Enjoy!

\-- 

 

It was a nice, clear day, the kind of day that had Jughead Jones snap out of his lethargic mood (one that had lasted for _three weeks_ ) and finally check his damn mail. Covered with cobwebs though it may be, he really didn't want the postman to stop delivering the mail. 

He sighed and walked out.

\--

He entered his house, tossing most of the already-paid bills and junk mail (which probably included ten or so death threats; one of the many perks of being hitched with a crime reporter) into the recycle bin, a recent addition to his humble abode. One, however, had caught his eye, and he saved it. It was a pastel pink enveloped, addressed to Mr Forsythe Jones, Author, 7556 Applegate Lane in a beautiful cursive hand. 

He opened the beautiful envelope to reveal a white letter. Unfolding it, he read the letter. 

 

_Dear Mr Jones,_

_I love your works very much, especially Sweetwater Secrets._

(He chuckled to himself; Betty had come up with that cliche name and somehow, it had stuck.)

_If it's not too much of a bother, I have a question for you. How would you describe the love of your life?_

_With Love,_

(He didn't read the name.)

 

The simple but thought-provoking request booted up his brain, long unused due to writer's block. He slid over to his journal, grabbed a pen, and began to furiously write.

\--

_She was sunshine, a bright beam in a town plagued by darkness._

_I met her when she was wearing a faded yellow sundress that matched her hair, the same hair I find myself running my fingers through every day._

_Even now, though she traipses about my house in white blouses and gypsy skirts that reach to her ankles, I still think back to her, picking the pretty weeds, her hair waving and her dress flapping in the wind._

_She wrote and drew her innermost thoughts in a small diary that was worn and scarred, like her._

_She laughs at the stupidest things; her smile is always radiant and can light up any dreary day. She bites her lower lip when she's feeling nervous or playful or both. She knows that it drives me crazy when she does that and she does it anyway._

_When she's frustrated, she clenches whatever she's holding and chews on her tongue._

_When she's mad, she makes this pouty face that just makes me want to kiss her pretty pretty lips, and when I do so, all is forgotten._

_When she's sad, her eyes, the most beautiful and clear shade of green that you could possibly imagine, become even clearer and more painful to look at. I saw those pleading, glassy eyes many times, when we received the news that we'd lost our baby boy forever._

 

_I fell head-over-heels for her when I was seven years old, yet said nothing. I felt like a commoner, a peasant, in comparison to her; my eyes saw her as a flaxen-haired goddess (and they still do)._

_She stayed friends with me when she didn't have to, stood up for me when I didn't have the strength to, and hugged me when I had nothing to give but tears and a runny nose. She held my hand when I wanted to fall, she pulled me back up when my insecurities pushed me down, and cooked for me when I had nothing to eat._

_She deserved better, so much better, than a loser from the wrong side of the tracks. Though she deserved more than me, she stayed. She's always stayed with me._

_She was the one responsible for making me lose sleep, and she was the one responsible for giving me breathtaking dreams._

_I still consider it a wonder of wonders that she kissed me back when we were 15, and later came back for me when I was the one who pushed her away when we were 16._

_That was the night that I worshipped her like I did in my dreams, with my head between her thighs and her hands entangled in my hair._

 

_Dear reader, this indescribable beauty is the love of my life._

_I am a commoner, a peasant, but a goddess by the name of Elizabeth Cooper took my hand in holy and unequivocal matrimony on a day that I remember like my own name._

\--

Jughead capped his pen and set it down. Struck by an overwhelming thought, he quickly scribbled,

\--

_Ours is a love story that I will tell, nay, scream for centuries._

_\--_

**Author's Note:**

> So what did you think?


End file.
